Rebel's Cage (Book 4) (31 page)

Martha said nothing. Fiona didn’t want answers or pat comforting responses that meant little in the light of her reality.

‘He blames himself, you know.’ Fiona added after a moment, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘He doesn’t think I know. But I sleep with him. I hear his nightmares. I know about the … fears he has for Robert and Lusara. I know it means a lot to him, I understand that, I just …’

‘Just what?’

‘I just didn’t think it would go on for so long. I thought … I thought by now he’d have a little … a little peace. But it’s not going to happen, is it? Not now. Perhaps never. Can you tell me I’m wrong?’

Martha reached over and patted her hand once. ‘I wish I could, my dear. I honestly wish I could.’

*

Finnlay didn’t dare go straight to Jenn’s rooms. He
wanted
to – but he simply couldn’t trust his anger. Instead, he strode down one corridor after another, wasting minute after minute, sure he would calm down – but still, sooner than he expected, he was outside her door.

For once he didn’t knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open, but the room was dark and empty. He hovered on the threshold, still angry, then stepped over, into the shadowed space where he wouldn’t have to pretend any more.

He left the door half-open, giving himself some light. It would be wrong to do this and burn candles at the same time.

She just had no idea. She was too close to the problem, and couldn’t see it like he could. And turning her back on this new evidence was a piece of blatant stupidity.

His feet took him to the corner where she had her desk. It was piled high with books and scrolls, things she was working on.

She was always working. She never stopped. Even when they went to Shan Moss, she took work with her – but he had no idea what kind of work it was.

Frowning in curiosity, he checked the titles of some of the books, but those only increased his curiosity. These were all commentaries on a variety of different religions from all around the world. Some were holy books he hadn’t even known were in the library. Many of them were open, and more than a few had little tags of paper stuck in them at various different pages.

What was Jenn doing here?

He flipped open a notebook that sat on top of everything else, skimming through one page after another, through scribbled quotes and their origins, and small but private notes beside each one. Little scraps of prophecy, jumbled words promising something or other, but nothing familiar, nothing that looked the same as Robert’s Prophecy – but there was so much of it! And all had come from these holy books Jenn had been studying, as though …

One quote in particular jumped out at him, holding him still and steady against a host of possibilities.
And one shall be born to raise his armies, increasing his faithful by tenfold, to bring them unto the new world.

He felt rather than heard her come up behind him. Her silence darkened the room. Inside it, he closed the notebook and laid it down on the desk. There was something horribly inevitable about the shadows.

‘What else are you hiding?’ he began.

‘Nothing.’

‘Why don’t you trust me?’

‘Perhaps because you break into my rooms, read my private journals – as though I belong to you in some manner. As though I owe you something and you’re determined to get it, no matter what.’

Finnlay spent a moment listening to the words, and another moment listening to the deep silence. Then he turned. She looked too small, too fragile for this work. Too close to failing and too close to success.

‘Tell me about Andrew.’

Jenn shook her head, her eyes fixed on his. ‘This doesn’t have anything to do with Andrew.’

‘You can’t keep protecting him.’

‘He’s a
child.’

‘Yes, and I have three daughters younger that I don’t protect as much.’

‘Three daughters who aren’t subjected to anywhere near the dangers Andrew is.’ Jenn turned away, waving a hand to the candles for light. She closed the door and rested her forehead against it. She looked tired. ‘For pity’s sake, Finn, Andrew spends half of every year at court. Nash knows he’s my son.’

She closed her eyes, shutting out Finnlay and his demands, his anger and his truth. ‘Every time Andrew leaves here … I wonder if it will be the last time I see him. It would be so easy for Nash to just take him, to use him against me, force me out into the open – but he hasn’t.’

The answer was all too obvious. ‘He’s not ready. He’s not strong enough to face you.’ Forming a frown of his own, Finnlay moved forward. ‘But he’s never shown any interest in Andrew, has he? He can’t know Andrew is Robert’s son …’

Jenn moved away from the door. ‘Please, Finn, just leave it alone, will you?’

The denial snapped something inside him. ‘Mineah’s teeth, Jenn, I’m the closest thing he has to a father! Don’t I have a right to know? Don’t I have
any
say in his life, in his future? What are all those books about? And why did you dismiss Henry’s work with barely a look?’

‘I didn’t dismiss it,’ Jenn began – but Finnlay opened his eyes wider, seeing something he’d entirely missed before. He raised his hand and pointed at her, the fullness of certainty swelling through him, guiding his words.

‘You’re afraid Andrew is also involved in the Prophecy. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what this,’ he waved his hand at her desk, at the books and scrolls piled there, ‘is all about, isn’t it? That’s why … By the gods!
And one shall be born to raise his armies
 …’ He had to stop then, to swallow hard, unable to stop the patterns forming in his head, struggling to voice them
all as they came to him. ‘That’s what the … the Bonding was all about. Why you and Robert …’ Shame made him pause then, forced him to choose his words with propriety.

He looked up. Jenn was staring at him with open horror in her eyes. He wanted to stop, wanted to go on as she had and pretend that none of this made any sense. It would be so much easier to pretend.

‘You and Robert were Bonded so you would conceive Andrew.’ The certainty in his own voice both startled and scared him.

‘No,’ Jenn breathed the word and looked away, her chin tightening as he continued.

‘You said … you said it was a compulsion, to be with Robert that night before your wedding. That he … felt the same compulsion—’

‘He didn’t force me.’

Finnlay dropped his voice, moving closer to her to put his hands on her shoulders. ‘He loved you – but he knew there were powers at play there. That’s what sent him away afterwards. That’s why he felt he’d betrayed you.’

She was silent then, her gaze on the floor between them, as though the truth were something that scared her more than the future.

‘You have to tell him.’

‘Oh, Finn, what good would it do him to know his father—’

‘No,’ Finnlay interrupted quietly. ‘I mean, you have to tell Robert. You have to let him know there’s another factor to the Prophecy he doesn’t know about.’

Her head shot up. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Not even if it might have a bearing on his survival? On Andrew’s?’

‘And how can you possibly know that – when Andrew isn’t even
mentioned
in the Prophecy!’

‘Neither is the Word of Destruction and yet, Robert is haunted by it!’

‘This has nothing to do with Robert!’

‘Andrew is his son!’

‘No!’ Jenn held up her hands, her voice strong and determined, her eyes alight. ‘I am so sick of hearing that from you! I swear, the next time—’

‘But he
is
Robert’s son!’

‘Only to the extent that Robert sired him! Beyond that?’

‘What do you mean?’ Finnlay frowned, stumbling in this sudden change of direction.

‘I mean,’ Jenn replied, her expression hard, ‘that Robert had plenty of opportunity to ask me. I even saw the thought cross his mind – but he never did. He couldn’t bring himself to ask because he didn’t want to know, Finn. He still doesn’t.’

She turned away then, her profile hiding much of what she was feeling. ‘He never wanted to love me in the first place. My having his child would only have …’

‘Made things worse?’

He stopped when she turned her full gaze on him, the depths in her blue eyes silencing him.

On impulse, he reached up and touched the side of her face, soothed cool skin and brought a tiny shudder to the rest of her.

His breath caught in his throat and he stepped closer, not thinking about what he was doing – and determined not to. He kissed her, and knew immediately the answer to the first question. He’d always known he would do this one day.

And when she kissed him in return, he knew she could read his mind. When they parted, they clung together just long enough to be sure. Then he stepped back, his hands on her waist, his eyes on hers.

She was smiling a little. ‘I guess we know now, huh?’

‘I guess we do.’

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I’d better go and see my wife. Are you coming down for supper?’

‘Later.’

As the silence grew between them, he murmured, ‘If Andrew
is
a part of the Prophecy, there is nothing we can do to stop it. You know that.’

Jenn smiled a little. ‘You never give up, do you? The three of you, all Douglas men to the last. You simply refuse to give up.’

‘Well,’ Finnlay said, ‘we all have our little faults.’ Andrew’s of course, was that he stubbornly refused to develop powers – and his mother’s determination that he should was abruptly clear.

There was more of that smile in her eyes. But it was not – and never would be – the smile she’d once given his brother.

He left quietly, walking along the lamp-lit corridors drained, tired and ragged along his own edges. All this talk about things changing and Prophecy and Kings – and really, nothing had changed at all. Perhaps nothing ever would.

He found himself in the doorway to his rooms. Fiona stood at the hearth, pouring water from a heavy jug into a pot over the fire. She knew he was there and yet she didn’t turn. Just blew a strand of hair from her face, one of many that had escaped the tiny braids she had laced that morning.

He moved forward, took the weight of the jug and let her guide the last drop into the pot. Then he placed the jug on the table, reached out and pulled her into his arms. She felt stiff and unyielding, but that didn’t matter.

They would always fight. They always had. It was as much a part of their lives as their children. She was afraid for him, afraid for their future. How could he not love the passion with which she fought for them?

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘I know,’ she whispered in return, relaxing in his embrace a little. But Finnlay knew that did not mean either forgiveness, or retraction.

‘I love you.’ And he did, with something that filled his entire being.

‘And there are days when I almost wish you didn’t.’

He turned and placed a soft kiss on the lobe of her ear. ‘I know. But I wish you wouldn’t worry so. You know …’

She moved, placing her hand over his mouth and looking into his eyes. A heartbeat later, she murmured, ‘I can live with it. I won’t fight it. But please, Finn, don’t promise me everything will be all right? Not until it’s all finally over? Please?’

‘Yes. I can do that.’ And he pulled her close again, resting in her, where he belonged.

*

Jenn let the shadows grow long across the floor of her bedroom as the candle burned low. Of course she should have been working, but even now, hours after Finnlay had left her, the echo of his words still clamoured around her empty rooms, showing up their emptiness, making her too aware of the depth of that emptiness.

Silliness, all of it – she should be used to feeling lonely by now.

But work was not the distraction it had once been. Henry had blown all that away with a few well-chosen theories.

Another violent flash of fear twisted across her belly and she took a breath, sitting up to swing her legs over the bed.

This was stupid. Fear alone wasn’t going to get her baby hurt, was it? But communicating her fear to him, making him think there was something to be afraid of, making him wonder if she’d failed him, or not told him something, that she’d betrayed him …

As she had his father.

‘Damn it!’ She stood, brushing her skirts down, reaching up to smooth her hair back to where it was bound up.

She couldn’t let this rattle her. There was still absolutely
no
evidence that Andrew might be involved in the Prophecy and, worse, no way of proving he wasn’t – short of asking the Key. But then, the Key never answered direct questions about the Prophecy anyway, so there wasn’t any point.

‘Jenn?’

The call was followed by sharp knocking on her door. She went out into the sitting room and pulled the door open. Martha stood there, her face pale with worry.

‘You need to come. There’s been some trouble. Some of the children – they’ve gone missing.’

*

The press of people within the council chamber was nothing compared to the pressure Jenn felt behind her eyes, the dull ache inside that told her she had failed. Nevertheless, she worked as quickly and as efficiently as she could, given the degree of near-panic the news had engendered. Everybody was talking at the same time and the level of anxiety was almost painful to her
ears. Already three small groups had begun searching lower tunnels and disused passages. There were Seekers straining to find some sign of the children, but so much rock – and indeed, the protection of the Key – hindered such efforts.

It was going to be a long night.

A friendly face came towards her through the crowd and Jenn almost sighed with relief to see Martha’s smile. Murmuring apologies, she pushed her way through to Jenn’s side. Only then did Jenn see who was following behind her.

‘Guy?’ The boy could barely raise his eyes to look at her. Instead, he stuck close to Martha and seemed to shrink under the tension in the council chamber.

Without hesitation, Jenn raised her voice and called for quiet. Seconds later, she perched on the edge of a chair in front of Guy and took his hand in hers. She deliberately ignored everyone else and instead, concentrated on the fact that this was Andrew’s best friend.